Dog Days
by ScarQueen
Summary: In this business, you don’t need to look for the help, the help comes to you. Usually most apprentices hate demons, not make pets of them. Still, what’s the mafia got to do with it? Used to be Untitled For Now. Woot! I've finally named this fic!
1. Just Another Night

Okay! This is a fanfic request-or something like it-by DomMod. I don't know how long this story is going to last (hopefully less than 20 chapters) or if I'll even finish it. But! I did say I'd give the idea presented by DomMod a twirl. We'll see huh? A couple of things/side notes: 1, there will be OC's (consider yourself aptly warned), 2, this story is solely dedicated to the anonymous reviewer DomMod (you know who you are) because it wouldn't exist with out him/her, 3, shifting POV, and finally 4, no, despite the fact that I know their shoes sizes and wouldn't mind locking them away in a closet for my own viewing pleasure, DMC and it's characters belong solely to Capcom (the stingy bastards) and not to me. And because I love A/Ns way too much, I'm going to cut this short. Enjoy the story.

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**Michael**

The world was a cold place. Slick icelets of water poured down on his crown, slicking the dark brown hair through the thin layer of cotton his hoodie offered. Head spinning, ears ringing, ribs hurting, he pushed on. The chain leading to his empty wallet banged against his thigh, reminding him with each touch of what he was trying to get the hell away from. He couldn't feel his fingers, his throat burned from the cold with every breath. The only comfort he took solace in was the large, furry shape at his side. The steady panting and lolling tongue of the best reminded him he had a home, out there, somewhere.

'Frankie' his mother had called him when they'd found the small wriggling puppy stuffed in their trash can. His mother was nice enough, she had the same color of hair he did, but she had a god forsaken habit of taking in strays. Anyways, they named the puppy Frankie after the eternal voice of Sinatra, his mother's favorite singer. That's what she said anyways, though by now her son was smart enough to hold a few reservations about the matter. The name would come to personify the nightmare who'd tear everything apart three years after that. The dog hadn't had a single damn thing to do with nightmare either. Two years later, mom was dead, home wasn't a home and it was easier to pull up the jacks then stay. He hadn't planned on taking Frankie, but he wasn't about to leave his only friend in the hands of a bastard fuck stepfather.

Still his ribs hurt. He paused for a moment, leaning a shoulder against the rough brick of a nameless blur of a building. Obediently, Frankie stopped as well, sitting at his feet after shaking off the thick layer of ice water coating his thick matter fur. Breath frosting on the cold autumn air, the kid eyed the lights of the building across the street. He couldn't read the sign too well out of two black eyes, but it had to be a convenience store or some shit like that. Maybe it was a ma and pa place that wouldn't care if he crashed on the stoop for a night. Prodded on by the promise of heat-however little it may actually be-the kid pushed on. Anywhere was better than the rain drilling frigid holes into his bones on street corner.

**Mary**

The wind blew steady against the window, carrying the chilled rain in drenching sheets. For late fall, or what passed for autumn in the city, tonight was especially nasty. Damn holidays. Halloween always scared away what business there was as time encroached into the month of October. Of all the holidays, Dante gave this one particular attention, as it was one of the more hated ones of the year. Like usual there was no one about on this side of town, at least not after dark. He had no doubt the few 'people' he'd seen pass by in last hour would aid creating a headache before the night was through. A headache or two was worth a high priced job. The clock chimed midnight and still the lights of Devil May Cry stayed on, whatever rock station blaring on the speakers. Pool stick hit the white ball, knocking the solid blue ball into the far left corner. That put Dante in the lead.

"Slow night," Mary commented, bringing the bottle to her lips. Dante grunted an uncommitted sound, leaning over the pool table. Lock, shock, roll, the solid yellow joined it's brethren in the bowels of the pool pockets. The door chimed as the wind blew the door shut, the sound of footsteps pattered across the wooden floor. Dante's gaze didn't break from the next ball. One more and it was game. From her place, leaning on his desk, Mary shifted, hand subtly going for her pistols.

**Michael**

It was definitely not a ma and pa place, but it had heat. Most places weren't open this late. His stomach growled as the feeling returned to his numb fingers. Frankie sat down on his haunches, obediently not shaking the water from his fur. At least the dog was water proof.

"Can I help you?" a woman's voice. He squinted across the room. The smell of pizza, warm and gooey, hit his nose. The intangible hint of it hit his stomach like a sledge hammer, twisting it sickenly. The feeling made him all too aware of how long it had been since he'd last had a decent meal. Holding back a gag he reverently wished a pox on the woman-like blur across the room.

**Mary**

"You can start with a name," Mary commented, slightly annoyed. As usual, Dante couldn't be bothered with any customer who walked through the front doors of DMC, let alone if the customer was a kid. Judging from the growing puddle around the young man and his dog, she guessed the black eyes were there for more than decoration.

"… …. …." The boy didn't say anything. Brown hair was matted to the skull through the sweatshirt as two blank holes-for-eyes stared back at her.

"You still have a tongue right?" Mary asked flatly, considering briefly that he may in fact, not have one, before dismissing the idea. Still nothing. Annoyed Mary rose, slowly crossing the room.

"You're either going to speak or get out," she said flatly, impatient now, but coming to a stop a pace away from the kid. "Are you even listening?" She demanded, taking a final step closer to the boy, as if in some way, the physical difference would make up the miles of personal experience separating them. The dog-a wet, black short haired mutt-growled low in its throat, haunches rising and teeth bared. Both the kid and the dog looked a shade off starving. Mary drew up short, eyeing the dog quizzically. What was up with the dog? The low rumbling sound roused the hooded figure.

"Frank." The dog silenced immediately.

"Nice doggie you got there," Dante chuckled, still bent over the pool table, eyes on the white ball. The pool slide through his fingers, sending a yellow solid reeling across the green expanse of the table before falling it plunked into the side pocket. The kid didn't bother saying anything. Still chuckling, Dante stood, eyeing up the kid and his dog as he continued to laugh. He reached for his own bottle. "It's not every day a pet demon walks through the front doors."

The beer fell from her hands as she drew her pistol. Mary held the gun level to the space between the kid's eyes before her aim strayed to the dog. The kid stared at her, something flickering behind the deep brown eyes as the bottle hit the floor. It shattered, the amber liquid and glass exploded around their feet. Yipping quietly, the dog jumped back a pace. It stayed on its feet then, ears perked and alert, still growling.

"We're outta kibble and bits, but we got plenty of beer to go 'round," Dante commented, tilting his bottle back.

"Don't move," Mary barked lowly, eyes trained on the two before her.

"…Wow…a shop of phsycos..." the boy commented in a dull, lifeless voice. Turning the young man headed back for the front doors. He couldn't have been more than a few years younger than her and he had a demon for a pet? Since when the hell was _she_ a phsyco? She didn't have a freaking _thing_ like that for a pet. What was wrong with people?

"I said don't move," Mary snapped, thumb pulling back the pistol's hammer until it clicked quietly. The guy didn't even pause. He was pushing the door open….he was _leaving_? Since when did the bad guy-okay, so he was more like a kid-just up and leaves with out doing anything?

"Whatever," the kid mumbled, stumbling out the door, his black mutt at his side. A moment latter they were both gone.

"What?" Mary asked no one in particular, as she slowly lowered her pistol. Sighing, she shook her head. DMC always seemed to get the wierdest customers. She didn't doubt nearly half of them were a few marbles short. Then again, all things considered...she might be as well...

"I win," Dante commented carelessly. The pool stick sounded like thunder above the rock'n roll music as it hit the pool ball. The black number eight went rolling. End game. He'd won. It was just like him not to care. Unless it had tits, a decent way of kicking the front doors down, or zero brains coupled with demonic looks, he didn't make an effort for it. Well...not overtly anyways. Hmph...if it was serious enough, the case would come back to them. They always seemed to.

"Best three out of five?" Mary asked, reholstering her pistol. She didn't comment on the incident, just as she knew he wouldn't be bothered into bringing it up.

"You could try," Dante smirked, tossing her the cue. "Rack'em and crack'em Lady."


	2. Katrina Benigno

Okay, this is way more Mary Sue than I wanted it to be. grrrrr. Meh… I guess it sets some stuffs up. That aside, slight cameo of sorts. See if you can guess it! te he! Enjoy!

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**Katrina**

Hopefully this time it would work. Everything else she'd tried to this point had failed to bring up anything useful. The Blu Net schematics flashed briefly on the monitor before a red alert box popped up.

_-Would you like to commence program?-_

She clicked on 'yes' before leaning back in her chair, watching as the small little portable computer went to work. With the adjusted parameters, hopefully a larger drag net would catch something substantial to support the claims made earlier that month. The board members would only be too delighted to watch the head cheese's only heir make a fool of herself.

If it weren't for the fact that she was right. There was something wrong with the Blu Net systems. She just couldn't get the damn proof for it nailed under her thumb. And it wasn't just the company's project that was experiencing problems. The Russians were getting impatient and wanted proof. Anything to justify the extended delays and failed attempts to gleam even a little bit more time on the project. Goddamn international trading, most kids her age were satisfied with AIM not creating computer programs to analyze genetically engineered DNA. Perhaps that was the flaw to having a father who made a point of pioneering the genetic technology front. There was a flaw with the sample and she'd damn well prove it.

If this program would just work! Sighing, she tilted her head to the side, groaning slightly as her bones obliged with a sharp crack. She'd have to let the program do its work. It would most likely take the rest of the night, if not longer. The presentation was only two days off, she had time. Not a lot, but some.

**Two Days Later….**

**Dante**

What the hell, why not go for it? He slopped the goo on. Whatever the hell it was, it worked. Some concoction Lady'd dug up. The wound began to close the way it normally would have. Fuck if that was weird. The front doors banged open, the bell chiming madly. Dante raised an eyebrow as Mary came in both arms holding two wrinkled grocery bags.

"Did anyone call? Are there any jobs?" The bags landed on the top of the pool table with a heavy sound.

"The movie joint called," Dante offered. "They want their copy of The Notebook back."

"I swear," Mary rolled her eyes, before turning to the grocery bags, "you don't even try to look for work."

"The work'll come to me," Dante shrugged. "It usually does."

"Yeah well, Enzo said to be gentle with this." Mary pulled a blue bottle out from the grocery bag and tossed to Dante. Effortlessly, Dante caught the object and studying it with little, if any interest, before rolling across the pool table top.

"Holy water?"

"Mixed with a nerve gas of some kind. He was a little vague on what it did specifically," Mary commented. Several more blue colored globes joined the first as Mary dug into the grocery bags. "Hey were are you going?" She demanded turning to Dante. He shrugged on the trade mark jacket of his, not bothering to turn around as he headed for the doors.

"Out." The bells chimed again as the door shut behind him.

**Micheal**

He tore the bun in half, cutting through the meat with his nails before letting one half of the hot dog drop to the ground. Frank sniffed the meat before he began to eat his portion of the meal. Micheal tore into his own half of the hot dog. God he was so damn hungry. He never thought there'd have been a day when artificial animal fat substitute would taste so much like actual meat. Frank whined, still hungry.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Micheal groaned, "I'm still hungry too." His stomach growled as he eyed the hot dog cart. He could score a couple more. Probably. From another stand anyways. This one was picked over, the vendor would notice if more went missing. Drawing his hoodie up, Micheal stood. "C'mon." Obediently, Frank followed him.

**At The Cafe...**

"_Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars, let me see what spring is like __on a-Jupiter and Mars_-" The cell phone ring was cut off short as she flipped it open.

"Hey dad." Auburn hair undertoned with black, she was wearing a prep uniform. St. Norbert's, it was one of two prep schools in the city. He'd recognize the uniforms anywhere and she had one of those leather messenger bags sitting next to her chair. She was kinda cute he'd give her that. Probably a snob though. There was no doubt in his mind that daddy paid for everything.

"Yeah, I was able to find something with one of the last dragnet scans I ran. Yeah. I think its substantial enough or at least enough of a problem to warrant attention. Well…it's a bit complex, I can tell you in person once you get here." Her face darkened. "You have a meeting? You can't get out of it? Oh no, I understand. I can give the presentation tomorrow if-what? The meeting's still on? You want me to present everything? On my own? Dad…I don't think…"

Snorting Micheal tuned the girl and her cell out. Service was sloppy at this place. Which was proving to be a good thing for him. He'd already scored three plates of leftovers after the original customers had left. Outside cafés were rapidly becoming his favorite type of restaurant. Frank'd had his fill too. The dog had ate a fourth plate of left overs on his own and was currently laying on his feet.

"Yes dad, I understand how important this is but it's just that I haven't seen you all week. You're at least going to ride in the car with me right?" Dear god. With hunger finally pushed aside, Micheal felt free to shoot Ms. Priss a covert glare over the half filled water glass he was quickly emptying. What in the hell did she have to complain about? She wasn't scrounging around university heating ducts for a warm place to sleep. A shop of freaks hadn't called her best friend a demon. The crazies had no idea what they were talking about. Frank could hurt a flea let alone an actual person. Micheal concentrated on the remains of the plate. A nice BLT with a fourth side of left over fries. He was stuffed, but he could make room for more.

"Hey! Hey give that back!" Whinning Frank dropped something in his lap, before sitting down on his haunches. "Hey your dog just stole my cell!" It was the priss.

"Way to go numbnuts," Micheal growled to the dog. Just what he needed, a little spoiled rich kid grilling him about why his dog broke her frickn' cell phone.

"Excuse me?" she asked, sounding surprised. He squinted up at her. She looked surprised. If he wasn't so tired he may have even enjoyed the way she was squirming like a worm on a hook about being forced to talk to someone like him. Someone she obviously considered out of her league.

"Not _you_," he replied warily. Reaching for the cell he held it up. "This yours?" It was a red cherry X, one of the newer models that had come out recently. The ruby plastic cell face was spotless enough to reflect light.

"Unless dogs can make cell phone calls," she shrugged, a small grin on her face. "I think it's mine. May I have it back?"

"Please," he handed over the phone. Maybe she was human after all.

"Ah…what?" she blinked, staring at him.

"You forgot to say 'please'." He returned his attention back to the BLT. "Sorry Frank took it in the first place."

"Um…thanks," she laughed, uncomfortable. "Have a good day."

"Whatever," Micheal shrugged. Ms. Priss headed back to her table, gathered her belongings, paid the bill and left a tip. Micheal looked down to Frank as the mutt rose, ready to follow the girl. "You sit. Don't even think about it." Huffing the dog sat again. That was another thing he liked about Frank. The dog was smart. A lot smarter than most people thought he was. Whining Frank rose to his feet before barking. Growling, Frank sunk his teeth into Micheal's pant legs. Still growling, Frank pulled.

"What the hell's up with you?" Micheal demanded, annoyed. He wasn't done with the BLT yet. Releasing the pant leg, Frank whined again, before turning in the direction the girl had gone a barking again. "Dude, gimme a break. She ain't that cute." Growling again, Frank took off. "Dammit Frank!" Sighing, Micheal reached for the waiter's tip before rising and taking off after then dog.

**Katrina**

"Hey!" she called out to the car, waving a hand. The black civic was a favorite of hers. The car came to a halt, pulling up along side the curb. She was keeping her fingers crossed, maybe on her next birthday she'd get one. She had to be the only person at her school with a driver's license and no car. Easily the back door swung open. Katrina smiled. _Even if I have to give the presentation alone, I won't let you down dad._

"I missed you Dad," she said smiling. It was true. Quality time with her father, Armand Benigno, was something she coveted above all else. Well quality time that didn't include cling-on latest mail order wife, Perfect-everything Lilith was coveted time.

"Katrina," her dad greeted her, his face grave. Eyebrows furrling together, Katrina stared at her dad. "Remember, I've always loved you." The world was enveloped in flames. It was so hot. So hot so hot, and then the force of the explosion threw her back into the building lining the sidewalk. She was gasping for breath as her eyes struggled to see through the hazy thick steam. even with the dry hot wind blowing in her face and making her eyes water, she could still see the civic. It was on fire, was bent and blistered from heat. Her father had just been in that car. The world went black.


	3. Two Months Later

Okay, obviously this story needs some TLC. So here it is in the form of a new chapter! (Yay!) Right...I've had to revise the hell out of the origional script I had planned for this piece. So...maybe it goes without saying that I plan on taking my time with this story. I've never worked with a request so far so this is a little bit out of my usual element. Rambling aside, this chaps mostly about story/plot development. (We'll see more of Dante and Lady later on in the story. Promise.)

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**Michael**

Every once in a while he had to wonder why the hell he'd even bothered with the chick in the first place. His fucking hand still hurt. He'd wake up at night sometimes, feeling imaginary heat on his face and chest and smelling charred, cooked flesh. He had nightmares of burning to death and screaming like madman. He dreamed of dying like the man in the car had. Whatever. Michael shook his head. Just forget it. Not your problem. The ambulance had taken the chick away. She'd been out of it by then, but no one had noticed him leaving. No one cared. They just wanted to see the gore the man in the car had become. Later, he'd seen something about the incident in the news, nothing official though. For all he knew the girl and her red cherry x were dead.

The brick scrapped against his hand as he squatted. The pain was dull enough to ignore for the moment. Beside him Frank whimpered quietly, sitting down on his haunches as well. Michael reached out and stroked the dog's head, digging deep behind the ears. The truck was almost loaded. This would be the last shipment for Red. Then it was adios putas, and he'd be done with this highly illegal shit. Goddamn. The things you had to do for a steady supply of Tylenol 3 in this place.

Then again, one supposed it was all in the way you termed things. For example, Frank was a dog. He was a demon, god only knew what the hell a demon was hanging around him for-or for that matter-what kind of demon Frank was, but hey demon dog. No big. Frank even knew how to sit and play dead. Frank fetched every once in a while and pissed on hydrants. Demon dog and homeless 18 year old drop out druggie running bum. Yeah, it was definitely all about the terminology, the way things were spelled out in the language and fine print. Terminology was found in the way a person moved, patting you on the back and saying 'yeah good job, amigo,' that told you about the knife being placed at your throat before it actually happened. Sign at the dotted line with a drop of blood. Haul the chick out of the fire and leave her for dead like the chicken shit you are. Terminology. It was fucking ugly form of science. No wonder he'd always gotten Cs in English. Frank whined again, cold nuzzle going to the crook of Michael's neck.

"Hey, gringo," Joseph called. Michael heard the metallic clank of the truck's back doors shutting. "Time to go, si?" Sighing Michael stood, brushing off his pants. The pain killers were wearing off. Big time. The white gauze on his hand-well it had been white a some point in time-was throbbing.

"C'mon boy," he commented softly to Frank. Huffing a sigh, Frank rose to all fours, trotting along side his owner faithfully. Michael's shoes crunched over gravel as he rounded the truck. Emilio was exchanging money with the third shift guys, as was customary for any of the jobs Red had them pull. "Hey," he greeted Joseph, flopping down on the rear bumped next to him. Tongue flicking over his maw, Frank sat down near Michael, watching the Emilo and the third shift haggle over price.

"Hey man," Joseph replied, taking a drag from a cigarette. Wordlessly he offered the cig. Michael shook his head. "Last run for you right?"

"That's what Red told me," Michael shrugged. It didn't mean a damn thing though. They both knew it too. Yawning Frank stood again, before proceeding to sniff the ground.

"Yeah," Joseph nodded, watching Emilio and third shift. He shifted his attention to the dog. "Why do you always go on jobs with your dog? You got no woman waiting for you at home or something?"

"Nah, nothing like that," Michael shrugged. "He's my good luck charm."

"Your dog's fucking creepy man," Joseph replied, taking another drag and exhaling. His breath steamed in the night air for a moment, curling up into nothingness as they waited for Emilio.

"Say what?" Michael asked, glancing over to Joseph.

"He's got no shadow man," Joseph commented, "My abuela used to say that demons never had shadows. Its because they can't bear the light of the day. You know?" Michael shook his head. Man...what the hell...not this idiot too...

"You sure that's not weed?" Michael retorted dryly. The pain in his hand was doubling. Slipping his good hand in his pocket Michael felt for the neon orange bottle. It rattled when he gently fingered its white plastic top. There wasn't much left. He'd better hold off for an hour or two, at least until the job was done. Maybe he could haggle some more out Red before he left this behind . Joseph opened his mouth to reply. He never got the chance. Emilio came back. Whistling to Frank the men and the dog piled into the cab. It was time to make shipment delivery.

**Katrina**

Andante, allegro, forte, piano, piamissio. Music was created for Italians. Or at least Italian musicians, not that she could have named any of them had you asked her to. And this elevator music was far shot from what she'd call music. Champagne glasses tinkled and trophy wives laughed in falsetto, fake chitters, while their husbands talked about golf games, expensive sports cars. She did her best to ignore it, a skill she'd actively developed with a passion since the funeral. She hated these things. Correction, she hated apparent now legal guardian lilith. What had her father been thinking? Including that woman in his will of all things. She didn't need a babysitter, let along one that was only a good three or four years older than her.

Snorting softly at Lilith's tell-tale low pitched sultry laugh, Katrina rose from her seat, gently smoothing out the long black skirt. She'd been her for the mandatory thirty minutes. It was time to leave. She didn't want to see her father's company divided up among the CEO board. The pricks. That was the topic agenda of this entire little ball room charade. High society, the in crowd, the upper ton as they called it the English courts during the American Revolution. Everyone was here to see the big business transition. To see the Benigno name smeared in mud. Or to do the smearing, depending on how you looked at it. Of course, the board was only running the show until she was of age.

….Assuming she lived that long.

The heavy door swung shut on applause as the first man up at the mike, Guy Ferro, began the long winded speeches and deplorations of gratitude at being handed such an honor on the death of a well-loved and cherished board member and friend. Guy was a part of the board, probably the youngest member at 32. He seemed like a decent guy, but that didn't rule him out. Not by a long shot. Katrina's sensible flats barely made a sound as she made her way down the hallway.

The forensics investigation blamed a faulty fuel line for the explosion. It was ruled a tragic accidental death. Even in the hospital she hadn't been fooled. Whoever was pulling this obviously didn't think very much of either her or her father. Forensic investigation. What a joke. It was obvious they had been paid off. Gas didn't become flammable until it had evaporated. And even then, the ignition source had to be huge to cause that kind of explosion. The kind of explosions you saw in movies, the kind of explosion her father had…things like that just weren't accidental.

Someone had wanted her father dead. Someone obviously wanted her dead. Not to mention that someone had cash to spare. So why let her live? Why not kill her at the hospital? It didn't make sense. Was this a corporate take over? The theory seemed extreme, however it was possible if not plausible. There were other theories…god so many other theories. All she had was time to think when she was in the hospital. That was all she had. That and scarred flesh and a single appearance put in by Lilith after she had been made her legal guardian. Not that _that_ was a memory she was planning to revisit.

Turning a corner, Katrina made it to her room. As the door closed behind her the warm familiarity of monitor screens greeted her in the darkness. Stripping off the long skirt she traded it for a pair of jeans. Not really her thing, but she needed a pair to blend in for where she was going. No doubt Lilith would never notice her disappearance. And if she did she would never comment on it.

Unbuttoning the blouse and tossing it aside, Katrina sat down in front of the monitors. They were reading nothing now, despite having spiked in the last few days. At first she had thought the spike was an anomaly in itself, but she was beginning to think that wasn't the case. For one thing, spikes were beginning to become more and more frequent. Not to mention that there was a pattern among the anomaly occurrences. They always seemed to crop up on the threes of the day. Be it three in the morning or three in the afternoon, you could set your watch to them. What it meant, she had yet to decipher.

The company was unaware that she was still running scans on the Blu Net systems. Or at least the archived specimens. In her opinion, what the company-especially the board-didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Since the Russians were satisfied and most of the errors had already been corrected, no on thought the matter required further attention. However, the anomalies were odd. They were dated back as far as the beginning of the company's genetic research. _That_ clearly deserved looking into. Setting the program to commence another recording of yet another specimen search, Katrina reached for the lace lined tank and pulled in on. She'd be out late tonight. Probably wouldn't get back until after the spike happened.

Rising she reached for the slip of paper tucked into the corner of a monitor screen before tapping lightly on the key board. The screen fell blank behind a password lock. One could never be too cautious. The somebody who had her father kill could be _anybody_. Folding the paper she slipped it into her pocket. It had the address she wanted and the priceless connection information that had cost her several months' allowance. Heading out the door, Katrina was careful to take the back way out. It was a preferable-and more importantly-less noticeable exit. Usually the exist the cleaners and chiefs used.

Sighing, Katrina began the long hike through deserted city allies, well aware of what could happen to a little rich girl caught slumming on the wrong part of town. This meeting was chancy at best, but if nothing else Katrina understood something perfectly well: no one was going to help her, so she had better be damn well prepared to help herself. Her father was murdered, that was beyond question. Now all she needed was an outside guy, hopefully she'd find him tonight.


	4. Momma Fortuna's

**Michael**

"Hey sugar, take it easy okay?" Marcy winked at him as she set the shot down on the bar top. A red head until the end, Marcy was the bar maid, bar tender, and Red's niece. She was nice looking, wavy hair and fair skin. She was also twice his age. Nodding a greeting, Michael glanced over his shoulder to take in the bar. Marcy didn't have the time for him anyways, she was already moving on to the next customer.

The reggeton filled the place with its heavy base. Red's place-Momma Fortuna's Bar and Grill. It may have been a well-known establishment since the age of the dinosaurs but that didn't change the fact that Red owned the joint. The music was loud enough to make his teeth ache. Wariness was starting to set in, his hand hurt, he was hungry, and Red was taking his time. All of it combined together to make the shot in front of him look like a diseased monkey. Sighing, Michael pushed the shot aside.

He'd lost track of how many jobs he'd pulled for Red. All in the name of self-medication. It was time to leave this place anyways. It stood to reason that if he wasn't working for Red then what the hell was he doing in the city? Men like Red always wanted until there was nothing left to give. He'd seen it before and didn't care to be a part of it. So it was time to roll. After…of course…he had to make sure Red wasn't going to drag him down before he ever stepped foot outside of the damn place.

As far as he knew, Red was the supplier and middle man of the major gang factions within the city. Recently however, rumor had it Red had bigger buyers. And not just for hardware but for pharmaceutical stuff as well. Hell, how many different jobs he'd pulled for Red carting truck after truck of chemicals. Thing was, he was always on these jobs. So was Joseph. It didn't take a genius. Using a single source made for easy clean up. He had to get out while the getting was good. Joseph could wind up six under too if he wasn't careful. Now the real trick came with actually quitting the gig. Well quitting in a way that allowed him alive and able to do more than eat and breath out of a tube. The dick didn't let him bring Frank in the place either. It had to be close to freezing outside by now.

"Who is that ugly bitch sitting at my bar?" the familiar cocky voice could be heard-if just-over the crush of those on the dance floor.

"Hey, Red," Michael swiveled on the stool to greet him. Red grinned, a cigar tucked between two fingers as two trophy girls clung to his arms. Red's wife-Fabiola-was the daughter of the latino mafia boss. The clichéd relationship worked however as the latino mafia frequently used him to get their shipments from place to place. And for his part, Red enjoyed the fringe benefits of his in-laws. As well as his luscious cheating whore of a wife, Fabiola.

"Joseph put in the order, said you wanted to talk."

"Yeah."

"Later," Red commented breezing past. "I got an appointment to keep with a beautiful senorita." Chick two on his arm-a brunet-giggled, her mouth opened wide enough to show off her hundred grand orthodontics. "Find yourself a girl," Red called over his shoulder as he headed to his booth on the upper level of the place. "We'll talk later."

Yeah. Sure they would. Hell he could live without the money, but he needed one last haul of pain killers. That would tide him over until his hand had finished healing. Best to wait. Men like Red usually kept their word, give or take a few strings. Michael reached for the shot glass. Might as well live a little before he died.

**Radio Interference**

Subject has left premises. Continue with altered mission parameters? 

Affirmative. Continue to follow subject with altered mission parameters. 

Requesting confirmation: maintain order of termination? 

Affirmative. Order of termination to commence at 01:00 hours. Confirm? 

Order of termination at 01:00 hours. Confirmed. 

**Katrina**

She pulled the collar of her jacket up, her breath rushing over her shoulder, caught in a sudden winter wind. Heels clicking on the cement sidewalk, Katrina paused for a moment. She was there. Finally. The dark deserted city streets did little to comfort her, but if this was the place, she had an important appointment to keep. Momma Fortuna's. Interesting place in an interesting neighborhood. Two bouncers stood at the entrance doorway like two well trained dogs. They watched her through tinted shades as she approached. Hand going to her pocket, Katrina pulled out the confirmation information. Giving the slip to one of the bouncers, she felt the corners of her mouth pull into a satisfied smirk despite the cold. She was doing it. She was actually doing it. Triumph trilled quietly through her, making her heart beat just a little faster.

"I'm here to see Mr. Mc Duff."

**Red**

Business was good. After tonight, it would only be better. The Cuban tasted sweet against his tongue as he blew smoke rings in the dark light of Momma Fortuna's. One had to wonder, what new title would he be awarded for this? It wasn't just a family gig any more. Sean 'Red' Mc Duff was a feared name but it didn't carry nearly the upfta it should have in the underground. Maybe he should go for something like 'Crazy Red Irishman'. Nah…that was a little over the top. The second to last shipment was in. That, at least, was a load off his shoulders.

Tiffany-or Tanya or whatever her name was-giggle softly in his ear, her hands running down to his fly, playing with the buttons there. Yes, business _was_ good. It could only get better. Every girl wanted him and he had money to spare. Beside him Sonya took a sip from her champagne glass, her hand resting on the inside of his thigh. Ah, the spoils of war. At least this way, everyone benefited. …Well, almost everyone.

"Mr. Mc Duff," it was James. There was only one reason the man would be here. And he was right on cue. Beside him, skinny little Ms. Benigno stood. She was prettier than the news photos made her out to be and twice as flat. Not a knock out by any means. Glasses covered a freckled face and brown auburn hair held back in a messy bun did little to cover up the Italian traits Armand Benigno had passed on to his daughter. She was clearly out of her of league here, which somehow supplied the aura of innocent naivety in a way he found appealing.

She studied him politely, nervously toying with the hem of her shirt. She was too polite to be a normal person. But she unnerved him. Her eyes had the same searching, intelligent light behind the irises her father had. However, she had less-if any-of the street smarts her father had. She was here after all, alone. That said something in itself. This was money in the bank.

"Ah, Ms. Benigno," Red pushed Tanya's-Tiffany's?-hand away as he leaned forward. "Welcome to my humble abode. Please, have a seat. Can I offer you anything to drink?"

"No thank you," Benigno's daughter sat in the chair she was offered. Red's gaze flicked to James for a moment before returning to the girl. "Mr. Mc Duff," she began, hands soothing out the wrinkles in her tank top.

"Please, by all means, call me Red."

"Mr. Red, I found your contact information while going through some of my father's old papers."

"A pity your father's death," Red interrupted, leaning back once again. "I knew him pretty well. He was a decent man. I feel for your loss. However," Red paused for a moment, "a pretty girl like you isn't here because you're daddy died, is she?" James eased his hand to the inside of his suite jacket.

"I thank you for your condolences," she said softly, a hand going to her face to push her glasses back into place on the bridge of nose. "You're very intuitive Mr. Red. I You know very well that I _am_ here because my father has," Ms. Benigno paused for a moment, her voice dying in her throat. Eyes dropping for a moment, she cleared her throat. "You were my father's friend, Mr. Red, a long time ago, I know. My father always said you were the man who knew half the people in the city. He always said you were popular in your college days. I was hoping-if it wasn't any bother-if you could provide me with some information. You see I'm looking for a detect-"

"Hey Red," a slurred voice interrupted her. The kid stood not more than a pace away. What timing the schmuck had. James eased the hand out of his coat pocket. Red could have cursed. Biting down on his cigar, he breathed deeply, schooling the annoyance into clam regard. "I said I'd be with you later Mike," he commented. "You should know better than to interrupt a lady." The boy snorted as Katrina gaped, making up Red's mind for him. Michael wanted something, and the kid was stubborn, he had to give him that. However, now the kid was dead-granted he was disposed of before this moment-but now he was dead a lot sooner. He was mucking this up. Big time.


	5. Scum

Okay here's the next chappie! Hopefully I can get the next one typed up and posted before I leave to study abroad.

* * *

**Michael**

The shots had left him tipsy enough to risk sneaking Frankie into warmth of the bar. However the moment he'd come back, shock had all but left him completely sober and numb to possibility of coincidence. He'd nearly shitted a brick when _she_ came wandering in through the doors of the place. Auburn hair….she'd had the red cherry x cell phone. The man in the car she had been waiting for was dead. She wasn't…but that man was… Michael had almost shit a second brick when she was escorted to Red's table. What the fuck was high class snobbery slumming in Momma Fortuna's for? What was _she_ doing here?

Hissing at Frank to stay put, Michael made his way over to Red's table. As usual, the dog obeyed, picking up on its owner's urgency. Who the hell was standing with them? The guy in the suite eased his hand into his jacket as Red and the chic talked. Not good. And she obviously had no idea what the hell was about to happen. And there she was getting all chummy with Red. Mentally cursing Michael made his way over.

Why was he doing this? His hand brushed against a table top. Deep pain burned along his knuckles from the impact. Oh. Right. He needed painkillers. He just needed pain killers and then he'd be gone. Hopefully he could drag the idiot girl out of this. God he was a grade A sucker. The chic was mixed up in something and he knew it. Granted Red was a ruthless bastard, but he wouldn't pop a girl in the middle of his place for the hell of it. Not unless he had a reason to…or better yet, he was getting paid a shit load for his efforts. In any case, he hadn't fucked up his hand just to watch the same fucking chic throw the effort away. No one noticed him as he made his way over to the shady corner. They were speaking as he brushed next to the suit, playing the perfect role of the drunk.

"You were my father's friend, Mr. Red, a long time ago, I know. My father always said you were the man who knew half the people in the city. He always said you were popular in your college days. I was hoping-if it wasn't any bother-if you could provide me with some information. You see I'm looking for a detect-"

"Hey Red," his voice sounded slurred enough, if not from what little he had drunk then from the pain. God his hand was on fire. The pain was slowly pulsating up his arm. It was enough to give him the sneaking suspicion that he was nursing a very nice infection of sorts. Red stared at him like he was a dead man. Well, that confirmed his theory on the shipment hauls he'd been making. He was a liability and he had just breached the fine line of 'useful' and 'expended'.

"I said I'd be with you later Mike," he commented. "You should know better than to interrupt a lady." He snorted. Well, didn't that piss off boss man Red. Whatever, Red was itching to pull off whatever it was he had planned.

"I said I'm done, Red," Michael retorted, throwing up the burnt hand. He made sure to sway a little as the hand rose sky ward. Acting and being were coalescing into the same thing however. How many shots had he had? Whatever, he hadn't made a point to count in the first place. "I want the bottle of painkillers you promised me and I'm outta here. I got places to be."

"You?" Red asked flatly, tilting his head to the side as he regarded the kid before. Leaning back Red nodded to him, "Where the hell do you have to be? Going to run off to fuck your dog or something?"  
"That's a low blow man," Michael retorted. The back of his neck was getting red though. The little cock. Michael had always known Red didn't like his dog, but no one insulted Frank. No one but him anyways and even then, the occasions upon which he did were as rare as say, finding a diamond at the beach or a free home on the upper west side to squat in.

"Is that so?" Red demanded, annoyed.

"Yeah, 'specially since you're planning on popping her," He retorted, just as annoyed. The chick gaped at him, her mouth falling open as she paled to the color of milk.

"Excuse me?" she asked, her gaze darting between him and Red. Her shoulders went stiff as she hunched over her jacket.

"Sir?" the suit behind him asked, a hand buried on the inside of his suit jacket. So that's where the real trouble was. Red smirked, studying him and the chic for a moment before chuckling.

"Let the kid be James. He wants to deal like a man let him," Red replied. James's hand eased out of his suit. "You have something to say Michael?" Michael whistled, shaking his head.

"Wow, lookit you, you badass motherfucker of a gang boss. You were really going to pop her in here weren't you?" Michael asked, dropping the slur. The chic gasped, recoiling as a hand rose to her mouth. Seriously? She really hadn't had a single clue? Wow…that was dense…. Hands tightening on her jacket, the chic rose. James's hand came down on her shoulder, forcing her to sit.

"Why don't you stay a while, Ms. Benigno," Red told her. He blew exhaled, letting smoke stream across the table in her direction. His gaze returned to Michael. "Since when do you give a shit about other people? Hell just last month Ferdy ate it. You couldn't have given a flying fuck save for the fact that you got more cash out of the deal."

"Ferdy was a baby raping pedophile," Michael retorted. "I want pain killers, Red. And then I'm leaving." Benigno. Her last name was Benigno. Huh…well no wonder the incident had been written about so much in the news.

"And the chic?" Red asked.

"Coming with me." Red laughed.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah." Micheal shrugged. "You said to find myself a girl."

"Excuse me but I'm right here," the chic demanded shrilly. "Don't you dare act like-"

"Shut up," Red and Micheal replied in unison, neither bothering to spare her a glance.

"So you want this girl? You know I want her dead and you decide you want her?" Red asked.

"You were going to kill her anyways. I'll do it for you."

"You'll kill her for me?" Red asked, leaning forward now. His trophy girls were giggling and whispering between each other. This had to be the highlight of their miserable night the leeches. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"Man how stupid do you think I am?" Michael demanded, the force of his words surprising him for a moment. He hadn't actually planned on saying any of this, but well... "I don't make myself useful to you and I'm a liability. Its in my interest to be more than just a fucking liability. What I'm saying is that I don't bite the hand that feeds, you know? I kill her for you and I still have a use even after you're done with these drug hauls."

"That's pretty intelligent for a smartass street punk. So you'll do her-hell you can do her in both senses of the word for all I care-and you won't say anything? I'm a business man kid, make this worth my while."

"You're bartering over my life? What is wrong with you people? You were my dad's friend! How could you do this? Who are you working for?" The chic cried out, her voice wasn't hysterical as he would have expected it to be. It was angry though. Damn this girl was dumb. She had no idea how far out on a limb he was going to get her ass out of here. And with any luck neither would Red.

"Dude, shut the hell up." Michael demanded, backhanding her. "We're talking here." Her head rolled to the side and she stared at him shocked. She'd never been hit before by the looks of it. Her eyes were watering. Great, just what he need on his conscious. Hell, she didn't know how lucky she was. Her pain was fading. His hand was throbbing like a heated poking iron had jabbed it twenty plus times. Not smart hitting her with that hand. Then again it wasn't like he had hit her that hard. Shaking off her look, Michael continued, "I want pain killers Red. You promised me them. I do her you give me all the pain killers I want."

"Pain killers?" Red asked, flicking cigar ashes into an ash tray.

"Pain killers," Michael agreed, raising his burnt hand. "How can you lose? I don't want any cut of the deal you have going for this spread. I just want supplies. You can always finger me for it and I wouldn't hold it against you."  
"And what are you planning on doing with her body?" Red asked. "You don't even have a car."

"Feed her to my dog." Michael held down a gag. Frank wouldn't even touch a steak let alone human flesh. His dog was a fucking vegan for Christ's sake and only ate meat when there wasn't any other option, which was becoming more often than not of late, a necessity. The whole meat thing was a fact almost no one knew.

"That's fucking brutal." Red commented.

"Not your problem. I want a refill on pain killers up front and she's a ghost with your blessing. Deal or no deal?" Michael asked. Red leaned back into the nest between his trophy girls, sucking on his cigar.

"It's a deal," Red replied. The chic cried out. Michael turned in time to see James twisting her hands behind her back. She was struggling, not that it was getting her anywhere. Her mouth had already been gagged.

"Payment now," Michael demanded, turning to face Red once again, setting the empty medication bottle on the table.

"You may make it in the real world after all," Red commented. "You're smarter than you look, just don't get cute. Intelligence can get you killed." The threat was barely veiled and Michael knew then that he wouldn't be coming back to this place any time soon. "James, get the payment for Michael after you're through with her."

"Yes sir," James picked up the bottle after forcing the now bound girl to sit back down in her chair.

**Radio Interference 2 **

Alpha team 1 reporting, sending tracer relay now. Optimal position acquired.

Alpah team 2 reporting, position acquired, standing by.

Alpha team 3 reporting, position acquired, standing by.

Alpha teams this is base, tracer relay received. Permission to begin target termination at will. Report back in 30 minutes, confirm?

Understood.

**Michael**

James took his sweet time getting back. In all actuality only several minutes had passed, but he wanted to get the hell out of Momma Fortuna's ASAP. The chic looked like she was going to hyperventilate any given moment. Well, she could hyperventilate with his blessing after they were out of this place.

At his side, Frank whined. Absent mindedly, Michael stroked his head. The dog huffed, turning his attention to the bound girl. Michael would have laughed at they way she cringed away from the dog's muzzle if it weren't for the fact that it would blow his lie to smithereens. Frank sniffed at her jeans and her shirt hem before sticking his muzzle right in her crotch. The chic stiffened, drawing her legs up close, getting ready to kick the dog and that would be unfortunate as he might have to hit her again for that. And he really didn't want to do that. His hand hurt. Well that and it was bad to hit girls. Specially if you were trying to bail them out of the fire.

"Man, knock it off," Michael told the dog, giving the collar a sharp yank. Frank looked up at him, brown eyes blinking. The tail wagged back and forth as his tongue lolled. He could have sworn the mutt was wearing a smirk. "Dude, c'mon," he groaned at the dog, running his good hand through his hair. "Why can't you find a bitch of your own species?" He muttered, scratching his head. Frank simply continued to wag his tail as he sat on the floor next to the girl.

James returned with the pain killers. Two bottles of them too. Michael glanced at Red questioning, not reaching for the bottles as they were set on the table. The man had fucking string attached them. He could feel it.

"Call it an advance," Red commented. "One now, for her, and a second bottle for any future jobs I may need you for." Red looked him up and down as Michael reached for the bottles, "I'll always have use for scum like you kid."

"Yeah whatever." He pocketed the pills and reached for the chic's jacket. It was cold outside, she'd freeze her little snobby ass off without it. Hefting the girl to her feet, Michael threw the jacket over her shoulders. She didn't resist, though she glared furiously at Red and him. Whatever. Sticks and stones could break bones, but glares wouldn't kill him. He kept a hand around her arm as she shuffled along. Frank was herding her along better than he could have on his own. She was going to try something the minute they were out of Momma Fortuna's, that much he could tell. Hell, if he were in her shoes he'd do the same thing. Her glance kept darting left and right, looking for a way out. Frank was the only reason she hadn't tried something so far. God he loved that dog sometimes.

They were half way across the floor of the bar when he saw them. Black body armor, obvious face masks. And guns. Really nasty semi-automatic guns. After the intial heart beat, between the sudden quiet of two deep base booms and when they open fired, he saw them. He saw them for what they were and instinctively understood. Grown men. Professionals. Killers born.

The gunshots sounded like firecrackers being lit inside of a poorly ventilated room. The sharp cracks sounded off fast enough to leave his head spinning and his ears ringing. The dull steely black of their guns glinted in the dim light of the bar, seeming to absorb the shadows of the place in an effort to become even more of a menace for the duration of their usefulness. If such a thing was possible.


End file.
